Leveled
by Carol
Summary: The demon ray gun may not work on Sam, but it definitely works on Dean. It’s up to Sam, Bobby and Castiel to try and put him back together again before it’s too late.
1. Chapter 1

**Leveled **

**By Carol M.**

**Summary: The demon ray gun may not work on Sam, but it definitely works on Dean. It's up to Sam, Bobby and Castiel to try and put him back together again before it's too late. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, only love them**

**Spoilers: up to My Bloody Valentine**

**Note: The demon ray gun I'm referring to is the ray of light Lilith tried to use on Sam in No Rest for the Wicked and the same beam of light that Samhain tried to use on him in The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester. I was actually rewatching that episode the other night when this bunny hopped on me. The evil ray of light might've been used in a few other episodes too, but I don't recall. Anyway, this takes place in the later part of season 5 sometime after My Bloody Valentine but before all the heavy mythology stuff I'm assuming comes in to play towards season end. Hope you enjoy!**

The wicked glow of the demon's cool violet eyes pierced straight into Dean's soul, turning him to ice on the inside. He was literally backed into the corner of the basement of an abandoned hospital in Tampa that had become a hotbed of demon activity. Sam was in the basement somewhere as well, but there wasn't much his younger brother could do for him at the moment. He was outgunned and he knew it. This demon, who was wearing the meat suit of hot young housewife and who was obviously very high up in the evil food chain, was going to kill him.

He shivered in fear and swallowed hard as he coaxed his mouth into an uneasy grin aimed at the demon. "Spot me the first punch?"

The demon's lips curled into an awful smile that sent daggers of nausea into Dean's belly. "Sorry honey, no can do. I've got my orders." She lifted her hand to the heavens and an orb of white light appeared in her hand. Using her palm like it was a ray gun, she directly the light right at Dean.

As soon as the beam enveloped him, he was in agony. It was like his insides were being forced apart, like a tornado blowing apart a barn beam by beam and nail by nail. Everything hurt. His blood burned like it was made of acid, his muscles twitched like he had run four consecutive marathons and his bones creaked like they would break apart at any moment. The sensation was similar to the time he'd been electrocuted when waves of pain had coursed throughout his entire body. These waves, however, were much more specific and much more intense. It was like the demon was trying to disintegrate his body from the inside out. He wanted to scream, but his body wouldn't let him. Instead, hot tears of pain poured down his face in a steady stream, dripping into the collar of his shirt. He waited impatiently for death to take him, selfishly wanting it to happen sooner rather than later so he wouldn't have to endure this torturous pain any longer.

"Dean!"

Sam suddenly appeared and stepped in front of him, effectively cutting off the beam the demon had aimed at him. The pain shut off like a switch and then he was standing behind Sam on legs made of jelly.

The demon looked at his brotherly curiously as the ray gun muted harmlessly in Sam's presence.

"I'm guessing at your pay grade, you know who I am," said Sam, taking a defensive stance in front of the demon.

It was getting harder to stand. He was feeling lightheaded. And that pain that had initially disappeared with the removal of the light was creeping back into him.

"I've heard rumors," said the demon.

His legs were getting shakier and shakier. He felt like he was going to puke.

"Then you know Lucifer wouldn't want you messing with his vessel," said Sam.

The demon seemed to weigh its options for a moment before exiting the housewife in a burst of black smoke. The woman fell limply to the ground.

Dean followed moments later.

"Whoa, whoa, Dean!" Sam clamored for his arm, catching him before he hit the ground. He lowered him carefully the rest of the way down. "You okay?"

His body was trembling as if from extreme over usage. "Sammy," he mumbled.

Sam gently pushed him until he was in a prone position on floor. "Easy, just take it easy, man." His brother put one hand on his chest and rubbed the other one up and down his arm in a comforting motion. "Try and relax, okay."

Dean shut his eyes for a moment, trying to fight the wave of nausea building from his stomach and pooling at the base of his throat. He swallowed thickly and took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. But the breaths seemed to ignite a firestorm in his chest. It felt like he'd just taken ten punches to the ribs from Lucifer himself. The pain in his chest only intensified the nausea. He opened his eyes and looked at his brother in a panic as he breathed sharply through his nose. He was going to be sick.

Sam caught his drift. "Oh crap." His brother grabbed his arm and quickly rolled him over, holding him off the floor as vomit exploded out of him. It came so hard and so fast he was sure he'd ripped vital pieces of his insides apart. It felt like fire coming out of his throat. He puked and puked and puked and then he puked some more. Just when he thought he was done, his stomach would heave and he'd puke even more. By the time he was finished, he was incapable of moving. Not to mention the fact that the pain inside his body seemed to have multiplied ten-fold in the time it had taken to vomit out his stomach contents from the last year.

"Aw dude, that's rank," said Sam as he gripped him gently around the waist and pulled him up and away from the spew. His brother pulled him into a sitting position against him so the back of Dean's head was resting against Sam's chest. Sam kept his arm wrapped protectively around him, which as much as he hated to admit it, relaxed him a little bit. He let his eyes drift shut and concentrated on the simple act of breathing. Even that seemed to cause him pain.

He felt Sam fidgeting and then heard the sound of a cell phone popping open. "Just hang on, okay." Sam gripped him tighter as he heard his brother dialing the phone. "Bobby, it's Sam. We got a little problem here."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the positive response guys! On with the story…**

"Bobby, it's Sam. We got a little problem here."

Dean willed his eyes open, his vision blurry at first, but he used the ample cleavage of the fallen housewife as a focal point that cleared his sight to crystal. He tuned his ears like a jack rabbit, concentrating intently on Sam's phone conversation with Bobby.

"Pretty damn big," said Sam into the phone a moment later.

He weakly tugged at Sam's shirt with his fingers, the movement feeling sluggish, like his hand was moving through mud, the muscles buzzing like they had been grossly overused. "What's he saying?" His voice was rough and deep, even more gruff than usual. There was a burning ache in the back of his throat from the vomiting along with a slight gritty catch that felt like the beginnings of a cold. His neck felt odd too. Sort of puffy and tight, making him feel claustrophobic and a little panicky. He trembled in spite of himself.

On cue, Sam snaked his arm even more snuggly around him, his brother's hand absently rubbing soothing circles against his side. Sam moved the cell phone so it was out in front of them and pressed the speaker phone button.

"You boys ain't exactly in the habit of calling me with good news these days," came Bobby's voice through the phone. "What happened?"

"It's Dean," began Sam. "A demon zapped him with this, like…ray gun thing and…"

"He still alive?" interrupted Bobby.

"So far," he croaked.

"How long it get ya, son?"

"Ten…maybe fifteen seconds," answered Sam for him.

There was an excessively lengthy pause before Bobby answered that he didn't like. It sent ripples of worry through his already shaky veins.

"You close by?" asked Bobby finally.

"Try Florida," said Sam.

There was silence for a few beats.

"Bobby?"

"Why don't you reach out and touch that angel of yours. Have him beam you and your brother to my place. I may have something that can help."

"Thanks Bobby," said Sam.

"Yeah," he grumbled.

"See you boys shortly," said Bobby tightly.

Sam hung up the phone. He shut his eyes for a moment, the nausea back.

"Dean?"

His neck was beginning to throb as much as his chest. He could feel pain in his left shoulder too. Maybe he was having a heart attack. Peachy. He opened his eyes, but all he saw was a black starry haze, dizziness sailing through his head and into his stomach. His head felt like it was being compressed by two thousand pound weights on either side of his skull. He let out a pitiful sounding moan.

"We're gonna fix you up, bro. No worries," said Sam, dialing the phone again and pulling it out of Dean's line of sight. "Cas, it's Sam. Dean and I need your help fast, man. We're at 1819 Main St in Tampa. Basement. East side."

His stomach churned. "Oh god…Sammy…gonna…"

He didn't get out the words. Puke shot out of his stomach, up his throat and exploded out of his mouth as his body lurched forward violently. Fortunately, Sam must have seen the signs and had grabbed both of his arms, supporting him as his body convulsed in nausea, pain and general misery.

"Give him a second," he heard Sam say.

After days, his stomach finally settled. "Crap," he mumbled in pain. He breathed in heavily through his nose and looked up. Castiel was standing beside them, gazing down at him with worry written all over his face. It was sort of sweet.

"What happened?" asked the angel.

"I got whammied," he responded.

"Can you get us to Bobby's?" asked Sam urgently.

He felt the warm touch of Castiel's hand on his shoulder. For a moment, the nauseous feeling went away. A moment later, he recognized the carpet of Bobby's living room. His stomach actively rebelled against its loud coloring and he violently wretched all over it.

"It's okay, it's okay," whispered Sam. He felt Sam's hand rubbing long up and down strokes against his back. "Try and breathe. Relax, kiddo, relax."

He carefully took in a deep breath and the motion seemed to calm his rebellious stomach once and for all. "Oh," he moaned as he finally caught his breath. Sam lifted him away from his mess, which he grimly noted had a few strings of blood in it. He so did not need to see that. His brother leaned him against the front of Bobby's couch, holding him steady against it so he wouldn't take a header into the carpet.

"You okay, dude?"

He managed a weak nod.

Bobby wheeled into the room, wincing at the stench from the vomit. "You stain that carpet and you buy it, son."

Castiel hovered over them, looking grossed out by the vomit. "I've never seen someone regurgitate so much."

"Tell me about it," said Sam.

"Makes sense, actually," said Bobby. "That demon ray scrambled the kid's insides."

"No kidding," he murmured.

"Another twenty seconds under that ray and you'd be evaporated," said Bobby.

"Feel like I already was," he said.

"How you feeling?" asked Bobby.

"I don't know. Sore…weak. Just wanna lie down for awhile."

"Anything hurting?" asked Bobby, eyeing him strangely.

He did his best to ignore his aching ribs, shoulder, neck, head, and now face. "No."

"He's lying," said Castiel.

Dean shot his own death ray at Castiel. "Can it, Cas. Look, just wrap me in some duct tape and put me to bed. I'll be fine. I swear." The pain in his chest was throbbing in time to the beat of his heart. He wanted to be unconscious.

"Maybe we should take him to a hospital," said Sam.

"Damn it, Sam, I'm fine," he said hoarsely. He could barely breathe.

"You can put him in my bedroom. I put the Spiderman sheets out for ya and everything, princess," said Bobby. "You know if you were hurting, I may have a spell or at least a witch's salve that might make it better. That is, if you were in pain."

"Right," said Dean. He tried to roll himself up to his knees to stand, but it was like his limbs were pins and needles. He felt so damn weak. The pain was worse too. It was radiating out of him.

Sam grabbed for his arm. "Cas, can you help me get him to the bedroom?"

"Aw damn it," he protested. He really didn't want to be treated like an invalid, even though it was becoming more and more clear to him that something really was wrong. The notion was terrifying.

Sam grasped him under the arms and Castiel stepped forward to grab his legs. The angel grasped his feet for a mere second before dropping them like a hot potato, looking majorly spooked.

"What is it?" asked Sam.

"Nothing. My hand slipped," said Castiel, reaching for Dean's feet again, this time maintaining contact.

"Aww….he's lying," he gasped as Sam and Castiel took his weight.

"I'll say," said Bobby.

"What is it Cas?" asked Sam just as he and Castiel hefted him off the ground.

There was an audible pop. Pain erupted in a massive explosion in his ribcage. He cried out in agony.

"Whoa, whoa, put him down, put him down," said Bobby.

Sam and Castiel gently set him back on the ground and he curled into himself, his arms wrapping protectively around his middle.

"What the hell was that?" muttered Sam, terrified.

His chest burned. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to ride out the pain.

"Sounded a hell of a lot like a rib breaking," said Bobby.

Felt like it too. He'd broken enough to know the feeling.

"How the hell could a demon ray break his ribs?" asked Sam.

"It's not actually all that strange. The ray effectively implodes its receiver. Think of it like a dam about to burst. The weakest part is going to break first. I'm sure your brother's taken more than a couple kicks to the ribs the last few months. The ray's energy was enough to crack em."

He wanted to pass out. He wanted to bathe in icey gel, be out of pain and pass out.

"Yeah, but I stopped it in time, right? I mean, his body may be weak in a few spots, but he'll be okay, right?"

"He's getting worse," said Castiel matter of factly.

His heart pounded in dread. He knew that tone. His instinct that something was very wrong suddenly blew up like another ray gun right in front of his eyes.

Bobby nodded grimly in understanding.

"What?" asking Sam.

"I could feel it when I touched him," said Castiel. "His body is slowly breaking down. You didn't stop it, Sam. You just slowed the process down."

His heart thudded in shock.

"Meaning?" asked Sam shakily.

"Your brother's dying Sam," answered Bobby.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the response! See first part for details. Enjoy!**

"Sam, your brother's dying," said Bobby.

Dean's brain went numb for a moment. It was like he was in shock. "I'm dying?" he whispered.

"Well, how do we stop it?" asked Sam, not missing a beat.

"I don't know," said Bobby.

Oh that so wasn't good.

"Bobby, come on, there's gotta be a spell or something that can fix him right up. Right?" said Sam.

"Maybe, but there's no guarantees, Sam. I don't know if we can reverse the affects in time," said Bobby.

He made the mistake of shifting to the side on the carpet and in the process, crushed a rib that was surely soon to be broken against the floor. A pathetic sounding whimper rolled off his tongue before he had a chance to stop it.

"We should get him to the bed," said Castiel.

"Yeah," said Sam.

"Don't break me," he murmured in jest.

"Dude, that's so not funny," said Sam, grasping his shoulders once again. "We gotta keep him level Cas. Bend down and we'll lift him up together."

Castiel nodded and hunkered down at his feet. He felt the angel's fingertips through his shoes.

"On three," said Sam. "One…two…three."

Sam and Castiel lifted him up and managed to keep him somewhat straight. It still hurt like a bitch though. He could feel more ribs creaking inside him as his brother and Castiel carried him down the hallway and into Bobby's bedroom. Still, when they set him out on the bed, the soft supporting sensation was something akin to heaven. He let his eyes shut. At least now he could die in relative comfort.

He could hear the metal whirring of Bobby wheeling up next to him. "How bad's the pain, kid?"

He opened his eyes and was surprised at how tenderly Bobby was looking at him. He shrugged and grunted.

"What hurts?" probed Bobby.

He mentally catalogued all of his hurts. The list was getting more and more impressive with each passing moment. "Ribs, shoulder, throat, head, face…"

"Those are all places you've been hurt before, right?" asked Bobby.

"Yeah…I guess so. Since I came back from hell."

Bobby nodded. "Those'll be the first places to go. Then more bones will break, your muscles will start to atrophy, your blood'll thicken and fill up with toxins and then your organs will shut down. Somewhere in there, you'll die."

"Well, don't sugar coat it or nothing," he managed, his voice cracking badly. He was beginning to wish the demon had just wasted him back at the warehouse.

"We're not gonna let it get that far, Dean," said Sam. His brother glanced at Bobby and Castiel, eyeing them both intensely. "Right guys?"

"Right." Bobby wheeled himself away from the bed and towards the door. "Got a few heavy duty reversal spells in mind that might work." The older man motioned for Castiel to follow. "I could use some angelic assistance on this."

"Whatever I can do," said Castiel. The angel glanced over at him in concern. "Try and rest easy, Dean."

"Do my best, Cas," he responded.

Castiel nodded, walking towards the door.

"Anything I can do to help, Bobby?" asked Sam.

"Yeah. Keep your brother alive until we come back," answered Bobby, wheeling out the door. Castiel followed.

"Right," said Sam, looking down at him, terrified.

"It's okay, man. I'll be fine," he slurred. He wrapped his arm around his midsection, giving his gut some support and also anchoring the arm attached to the shoulder that now felt like it was being ripped out of its socket. Memories of dislocating it in that fall from the church window the previous year flashed through him. He let his eyes flutter shut, giving in to the pain.

He suddenly felt hands on his shoes and smiled when he realized that Sam was taking them off of him. "Aw Sammy, I love it when you get all maternal on me. You gonna tuck me in too?"

"Shut up," he heard Sam respond.

He realized he was really cold. It had started when they'd been beamed to Bobby's house and had slowly gotten worse. Now he was full out freezing, his body tense, the deep bone and muscle aches worsening as he shivered. The trembling shot bursts of pain throughout his tormented system. "Awww," he breathed.

He felt the soft downy comfort of a fleece blanket being placed over him. Sam wrapped the blanket tightly under his arms, legs and torso, cocooning him and taking away the bite of cold.

"That better?" asked Sam.

He opened his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

Sam sat down next to him on the bed and ran a worried hand gently down the side of his face. "You're getting a fever, man."

"Hmmm," he mumbled, fighting to keep his eyes open. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

"Stay with me, Dean. You gotta fight this," said Sam, grabbing his hand.

"Am, Sam…I am," he paused, snorting. "Ha…Sam I am…like Dr. Seuss." He looked up at Sam for validation of the laugh, but clearly his brother wasn't in joke mode. He cleared his throat awkwardly and dropped it. "Cas and Bobby'll figure something out…"

"And what if they don't?"asked Sam.

He shrugged and then a fierce ache tore at his shoulder. "Oh god." The pain sizzled, taking his breath away. "Owww…Sam," he groaned raggedly. His eyes clenched shut and he gritted his teeth against the wave of torment.

Sam's hand cupped him gently under the neck, his brother's fingers rubbing the skin there lightly. "Easy, man. Breathe."

He sank against the warmth of Sam's hand, taking comfort in it as more pain lit him up from his shoulder down into his chest. "Kill me now," he murmured, his tone only half joking.

"No way," said Sam. "You gotta fight this."

"Yeah, because there's so much to live for," he answered. He was so tired and so sick of the pain. All of it.

"What?" said Sam.

He forced open his eyes to regard his brother. "You heard me," he whispered.

Sam played dumb. "I need you to fight, Dean."

He chuckled, the movement hurting his ribs. "I will Sammy."

"Funny, why I don't believe you," said Sam, getting pissed.

He was far too miserable to deal with sanctimonious Sammy right now. "Stop yelling at me, man. I'm imploding from the inside out. Doesn't that give me a pass from guilt trips?"

"No."

"Sam…"

"Dean…"

His chest was throbbing. There was a slow burn building inside of him that he had come to recognize was the prelude to a broken rib, and he was feeling that fire on both sides of his rib cage. It was going to be lovely when they popped inside him. Almost as good as when that demon bitch had cracked them with her kicking binge or when Sam had been hopped on blood and had thrown him into that table. So awesome. "What do you want me to do, Sam?" he asked, frustrated.

"I want you to give it your all and fight…not just wither away and die. I want you to give a damn!" said Sam.

He sighed. "For what, man? The apocalypse? Lucifer? Michael? What do we have to look forward to Sammy? Not much. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to check out early," he answered, his voice sounding small in his ears. His throat was throbbing now too, reminding him of the time Alistair had nearly choked the life out of him.

"You don't mean that," said Sam.

"Don't I, Sam? Let's say by some miracle, we do beat the devil. Something else is just gonna rise up and try and take his place. There's always gonna be evil, bro. When's enough gonna be enough? When do we get stop fighting? I'm sick of it. I just want it to be over," he said. He sounded desperate and whiny. He didn't care.

Sam's eyes gleamed with disbelief. "You know, you always gave me crap about being selfish for leaving you and dad and wanting my own life. Now who's being selfish, huh?"

"Sam…"

"It's what we do, Dean. It's what we're good at. Does it suck and hurt like hell? Damn right, it does. But this time, man, we got a shot at saving the world. The whole world, bro. You're honestly telling me you wanna just cash out early?"

"Sam…"

"What about me?" said Sam, teary eyed. "What am I supposed to do if you die, huh? I mean look what happened when you went to hell. You go away again, and I'll say yes to Lucifer. I'll fight, sure, but eventually, he'll wear me down and with you gone, I'll have no reason to resist anymore."

A bomb of guilt exploded in his heart. He felt like crying. "Don't put that on me, man. That's not fair."

"It's the truth and you know it," said Sam. There was a thick silence between them for a few moments. "So I guess that means you gotta fight this with everything you got."

He exhaled incredulously. "You're a manipulative little bastard, you know that." A few tears of sheer frustration and misery spilled out of his eyes. They tickled his cheeks as they ran down is face. He didn't have the energy to wipe them away. "Pain in my ass too."

"It's my job, big brother," said Sam.

"Ironically, my ass is the one thing that isn't hurting right now," he said. Just as the words left his mouth, pain exploded inside him as both of his ribs broke with a sickening crack. He screamed as the piercing ache hit him like a savage punch to the gut. His vision went white with the pain, sweat breaking out all over him as his head spun with the mind-numbing agony.

"Sammy," he whimpered pathetically. His brother's hands were on him, soothing, comforting, trying to take the pain away. But nothing was making it better. "Can't take it," he choked out. He was shaking like a leaf against Sam. He felt his brother scoop him up in his arms and clutch him protectively.

"Bobby, Cas…we need some help in here!" screamed Sam.

"Oww," he groaned.

Sam's hand ran soothingly through his hair. "We're gonna fix it, Dean," his brother whispered in his ear. "We're gonna make it better."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much for your response! See first part for the details. On with story…enjoy!**

"We're gonna make it better."

Dean wished he could be brave and pretend like this wasn't killing him. But it was. He curled up tighter into his brother's clutches, his own arms clenched tightly around his aching ribs as he nuzzled his face against Sam's chest. Sam always had been a great body pillow that made him feel a comfort he just couldn't get when he was curled up on his own. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone, least of all his little brother.

"Easy, easy," panted Sam. His brother's hands came down to cover his and now he had two pairs of arms wrapped supportively around his crumbling ribcage.

"What happened?"

He glanced up faintly and saw Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, fear and unease radiating out of the angel's blue eyes.

"It's getting bad," said Sam. "You think there's anything you can do to help him?"

The angel contemplated for a moment. "I've lost most of my heavenly powers, including the ability to heal, but I might be able to slow down the effects…maybe ease his pain some," said Castiel.

"Anything's worth a shot, right?" said Sam.

The angel sat down on the bed next to them and extended a hand towards his shivering back. He squirmed away. "Whoa, whoa," he cried out. "Oww…dude, I'm not letting you feel me up, no way, no how." He shut his eyes against a thudding in his head that was slowly but surely turning into a pounding.

"Dean, come on, if he can slow it down, it'll buy Bobby some time, you know," said Sam.

He flipped his eyes open and sighed in irritation. "Whatever." His gaze drifted to the angel. "Will it hurt, Cas?"

"No. Quite the opposite actually. It should feel quite good," said Castiel.

"As long as it doesn't feel too good," he answered. "Ohh…god," he half moaned, half gargled as another rib shifted painfully in his chest. The twinge stole his breath as he curled himself deeper into Sam's embrace.

"Dean, you're letting him do this," said Sam firmly.

"Bite me," he murmured against Sam's chest.

"If that's what it takes," said Sam.

He groaned, not in pain but in irritation. After a moment, he uncurled himself in defeat away from Sam, who grasped his back and arms and helped him straighten out until he was lying stretched out on his back. He peered up at Castiel feeling awkward and vulnerable. "What do I have to do?"

"Just try and relax," said Castiel.

"Easy for you to say, man," he responded tensely. He relaxed slightly when he felt Sam pull him back into his lap, his brother's giant hands coming to rest lightly on his chest.

"I'm here, Dean," said Sam.

"Thanks Sammy," he said. The pain in his head was full on hammering now. His shoulder was raw. His ribs were ridiculous. Every breath he took was like taking a full on rib cracking kick to the gut. The fact that his throat was constricting more with every passing moment did nothing to help with the trapped, claustrophobic sense of panic invading his whole body. He was shivering and sweating and taking in shaky, shallow gasping breaths that made it sound like he was having a panic attack.

"Calm Dean, calm," said Castiel.

"I am calm, man," he proclaimed through gritted teeth.

Sam ran his hand lightly over his chest in a slow circular motion. "Slow your breathing down, dude. Relax. Clear your mind. Try and forget the pain."

"Trying," he murmured.

"Slow it down, bro," said Sam continuing the circling motion on his chest in a comforting even rhythm.

He took in a deeper breath as he tried to match the speed of Sam's motion on his chest. The deeper breaths did nothing to help his pain. "Awww," he cried out as the throb in his ribs hit him sharp.

"Keep going. It'll hurt at first, but it'll relax you. Then Cas can work his magic," said Sam.

He eased out a breath. "Cas, Sam…"

"Yeah?" said Sam.

"What is it, Dean?" asked Castiel.

"This is the thing of which we do not speak. Ever. Is that 100 hundred percent…and I mean 100…hell, 110 percent… crystal clear?" he said.

"One hundred and eleven," said Sam.

"What is it you're speaking of?" said Castiel.

"You guys kick ass," he said. He took one last deep breath and then closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on a field of naked women and nothing else.

"Alright Dean," said Castiel in a deep soothing tone. "I'm going to start at your feet and work up toward your head. You might feel a slight warmth and tingling sensation."

"That's what she said," he murmured.

Sam knocked him in the arm. "Dude."

"What she are you referring to?" asked Castiel.

"Never mind, big guy…just work your magic…please," he said, the please coming out much more desperate than he had intended.

Castiel's strong hands gripped his feet tightly. "Breathe out, Dean," said the angel.

He did as he was told and was rewarded with a deliciously warm and relaxed feeling in his toes. They felt unburdened, footloose and even a little fancy free. "Holy crap, Cas, that feels incredible," he remarked.

The angel's hands moved to his calves and the same peaceful warm bath sensation spread to his lower limbs. He let out a peaceful sigh of content.

Sam shifted his hold on him, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Should I leave you two alone?"

He couldn't answer. Castiel's hands were on his ribs and the waves of pain had snapped off, replaced with a bone deep pain free soothing haze of relaxation and comfort. "Oooohhhh," he moaned in absolute sheer relief. His brain turned to mush and his head sunk deeply against his brother's body as the need for sleep suddenly took hold of him.

By the time Castiel's hands reached his temples, he was nearly unconscious as his body drunk in the feeling of being free from pain. A gentle hand brushed across his forehead, fingers lingering at his hairline. "Think it's working, Cas," he heard Sam whisper before he was out like a light.

The bliss of being pain free seemed to last merely minutes, though it could've been hours for all he knew. One moment, he was melting into oblivion and the next, he was fighting against a rapidly building pain that seemed to pulse like lightning bolts through his whole body. His brain clicked on and he remembered his current predicament. The pain in his head, chest, throat, face and shoulder resumed and were joined by a few new friends like his hands and back. His hands throbbed like they were soaking in icy cold water, the memory of every punch he had recently thrown coming back as he flexed the joints uselessly to ease the pain. His back was a muted but steady ache that was gradually building with each breath, like it was remembering every wall and gravestone it had been tossed against in the last year.

He blew out a breath, which sounded more like a keening whimper.

"Dean?"

He experimentally opened his eyes and saw Bobby was sitting next to him keeping watch. Castiel and Sam were nowhere to be found. "Where's Sam?" he croaked.

"We found a spell. He and Castiel are out collecting the supplies we'll need to perform it," answered Bobby. The older hunter didn't sound relieved. In fact, he sounded kind of worried.

"Bobby…oohh…what is it? You just said you found a spell," he said. "Should fix me, right?"

Bobby regarded him uneasily. "I'm gonna give it to ya straight, kid. I hope to god it works. But, we might be too late. This ray, it works almost like a virus. It spreads these demonic molecules that basically annihilate you from the inside out. The spell should neutralize a small amount, but there's no telling how it will react to a bigger portion. Hell, it might multiply it or even speed up the process, I don't know. But we don't have many options at this point."

He nodded. "It's okay."

Bobby tilted his head to the side and for a moment, he thought the man he regarded as a second father was fighting back tears. "There's something you should know, boy…and I don't' want you to think I'm saying it cause I think you're gonna croak or anything…it's just something needs to get said eventually and it might as well be now."

"What's that?"

Bobby took in a deep breath and then blew it out, gazing at him seriously. "Your daddy would be so proud of you, Dean."

He swallowed convulsively, a painfully hard lump forming in his throat. Painful. "Bobby…"

"Shut up, I gotta tell you one more thing."

"What's that?"

"I never had kids…wanted em' but," Bobby paused and swallowed, "if I had a son, if he turned out to be even half the man you are, I'd…"

He had to look away as the taste of salty tears slid down his sore throat. "You done?"

"Yeah," said Bobby, clearing his throat.

"Good. Wouldn't want you getting all weepy on me," he said, finally able to meet Bobby's eyes.

"Weepin's for wimps, son. And I ain't a wimp," said Bobby.

He half smiled at the hunter. "Course not."

The moment promptly ended as Castiel and Sam materialized at the foot of the bed with Sam looking a little shaky.

Bobby looked at them eagerly. "You get everything?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "Let's just say Antarctica really is as cold as they say."

Castiel stepped forward and rubbed a hand against his leg as if taking his temperature. "He's weakening. We're running out of time."

Bobby pulled out a silver bowl and set it on the foot of the bed. He glanced up at Sam and Castiel and nodded at the bowl. "Whaddaya boys waiting for?"

Sam and Castiel began pulling random things out of their pockets and throwing them in the bowl. There were some herby green things, a feather, a dead rodent-like creature, what he swore was a bird's beak, some gushy spongy thing and some hair. Then Bobby pulled out a few bottles and poured some blue, green and red liquid into the bowl. "That's everything," said Bobby.

Sam pulled out the spell book and opened it to a page in the middle. His brother cleared his throat slightly, glancing first at him, then at Castiel and finally at Bobby. "Light her up Bobby."

His heart was thudding against his chest. He was freaked.

Bobby pulled a book of matches out of his pocket. He tore one off and went to strike it against the cardboard.

"Wait!" he said, eager, frightened, desperate, his voice sounding like compressed air scrapping against jagged gravel.

Bobby, Castiel and Sam all stopped and looked at him, really looked at him. He swallowed dryly, feeling nervous, like he was under a spotlight. He did his best to clear his throat. "Just wanted to say…ah…in case, you know…owww…that you guys are…pretty much awesome. So thanks."

"That was very touching, Dean," offered Castiel in a serious tone.

"I was moved," said Bobby, smiling grimly.

Sam didn't say anything. Instead his brother offered him a slight smile with his sensitive eyes fighting off tears.

"Y'all are killing me," he said, eyeing the match. "Let's get this spell rolling."

Bobby nodded and looked to Sam and Cas. "Ready?" They both nodded. Bobby's eyes drifted to Dean's. "Here goes nothing."

Bobby lit the match and threw it in the bowl. The contents flamed up and produced a purple ball of light. Sam began reading a verse of Latin from the spell book.

Just as the Latin words began pouring from Sam's mouth, his own body lit up with fiery pain. Internally, externally, it was like this burning ache was going to rip him apart. A new pain hit him squarely in the stomach like he'd been gutted by a knife. A slow pressure built in his lungs like he was being blown up like a balloon that was threatening to pop. His eyes clamped shut as his other hurts multiplied by at least ten, leaving him a trembling mess of misery.

"Ahhhhh! Stop it…please stop!" he screamed in his mind, but really, his voice leaked out as nothing more than a breathy whimper.

"Oh, damn it!" he heard Bobby curse, panicked. "Stop, Sam, stop! It's killing him! Son of a bitch, it's killing him!"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all your kind words and response. The end is in sight…course', things are gonna get worse for Dean before they get better... Hope y'all enjoy! **

"Stop, Sam, stop! It's killing him! Son of a bitch, it's killing him!"

Dean let out a horrific scream as his body arched off the bed in throbbing agonizing pain, his eyes clenched shut so tightly it hurt. Sweat erupted all over his body, soaking his clothes and the sheets. "Oh god," he whispered in a trembling pant as he fell back against the bed. He couldn't stop the sniffles or the tears of pain that spilled out of his eyes.

"Cas, kitchen pantry. Oil of Alesian. Now!" said Bobby. The older hunter grabbed his hand and held it tightly in comfort as Castiel disappeared. "Just hang on, Dean, just hang on another minute."

Sam stared at him in agonized worry, like he was in some kind of drunken stupor. The spell book dropped clumsily from his brother's lap to the floor with a loud crash. "Bobby…what…"

Castiel reappeared with a glass jar in his hands filled with an orange substance.

""This'll stop the spell," said Bobby. The hunter let go of his hand and grabbed the jar from Castiel. "Sam, grab your brother!"

Sam was clamoring into the bed with him a moment later. He moaned as his brother wrapped his long arms gently around him. "Sammy," he more sobbed them murmured. He huddled his head against his brother, burrowing a hole in Sam's shirt as the agony crescendoed second by second, the pain ticking away inside him like he was about to explode.

"It's okay, Dean, I got you," said Sam, resting his chin on top of his head and pulling him tighter against him.

Bobby made like he was going to pour the contents of the jar into the bowl and then paused a moment. "Cover your eyes."

Sam tilted him away from the bowl so his face and eyes were protectively smashed into his brother's armpit.

There was a sizzling sound, followed by a loud pop. The building pain abruptly halted and he was left with the steady throb of all his hurts. There were so many now. Ribs, chest, head, back, hands, throat, shoulder, and stomach. He breathed in tightly through his nose as he tried to get used to the steadiness of the pain, relieved that at least it wasn't getting any worse. His head fell away from Sammy's pit and down into his brother's lap in wobbly relief. He was just trying to breathe. Even that was challenging at this point. He was quaking weakly and on the verge of passing out.

He heard Bobby exhale loudly. "That was close."

Sam's hands were on his back, rubbing, kneading, soothing. "Shhhhh, you're okay, man, you're okay. Take it easy. Where's it hurt?"

"Everywhere," he wheezed. "Think…ohhh…need a shot…ahhh…from doctor….oh, son of a bitch…feelgood over there."

A few seconds passed and Sam's hands left his back, to be replaced by Castiel's warmed ones. "You're much worse then you were before, Dean. My touch may not be as effective."

"Don' care," he breathed. "Jus' do it."

He wrapped himself around Sam's thigh, holding it for comfort like it was a teddy bear. Castiel's hands ran up and down his back and upwards into his scalp. The touch warmed him and soothed him some, took the edge off for sure, but it didn't quench the ache as completely has it had before. In fact, by the time the angel was done, he was feeling even more lightheaded and rather queasy, almost like he had taken a few too many extra strength pain killers. He wanted to puke…again. The want turned to need in seconds. He gagged hard, his mouth filling with puke.

"Dean…oh crap," said Sam, quickly lifting him off his lap and positioning his head over the side of the bed. "Cas, the trashcan." But Castiel didn't make it in time. He violently spewed a mouth full of what he realized shockingly was blood onto the carpet below. It tore his stomach apart. It was a combination of the air stifling throb of a gut punch with the sharp creaky burning stab of a knife wound. The spasms continued for another minute and then finally, he was done. He sagged like a rag doll over the bed, his stomach pulsing in pain against the mattress. He was totally spent. His body was useless.

"Dean…you alright, boy?" asked Bobby, the older hunter's hand landing on the small of his back.

All he could do was moan.

Sam tried to lift him up and he did his best to resist. "No…S'mmy…don…wan…move…p'eas," he mumbled. "Jus leave me a sec."

"Okay, bro, you got it," said Sam. His brother's hand went to the back of his neck, massaging it soothingly.

He wanted to die. He couldn't take this. His body was broken and torn apart. He eyed the blood he'd puked up and let out a pitiful sob, not caring that the others heard him.

"What now, Bobby?" asked Sam, anxious.

Bobby exhaled loudly. "There is one other thing we could try."

"What?" asked Sam.

"Demon blood," said Bobby matter of factly.

"Wha…" he mumbled against Sam's leg. He struggled to flip himself upright. Sam grabbed his arm and helped him flip the rest of the way up. The world tilted like he had the drunken spins. It did nothing to help his nauseous belly.

"Interesting," said Castiel. The angel thought for a moment and then nodded. "That could work."

Sam shook his head in confusion. "So we're supposed to summon a demon, trap it and then Dean drinks it's blood?" His brother's tone was incredulous.

"Not exactly," answered Bobby. "First of all, it'd have to be a very specific type of demon. And he couldn't drink the blood, it'd have to be transfused directly into his system."

"What kind of demon you suppose?" asked Castiel.

"The bad ass mother kind. The kind that got issued their very own demon ray gun at birth," responded Bobby.

Castiel nodded in understanding.

This wasn't happening. He'd rather be dead. He sucked in a breath, trying to garner some strength. "No way. I'm not taking blood and then turning dark side just so I can live."

"You won't have to, Dean," said Bobby. "The blood won't turn you. It'll just neutralize the ray's effects in your system."

"So it'll cure him?" asked Sam.

Bobby shook his head. "It won't magically fix what's already been broken. But it'll stop the bleeding…for good."

"I don't know, man," he whispered through clenched teeth. "Summoning a demon…oh crap ...taking it's blood…seems…ahhh…wrong."

"What if you took my blood?" said Sam.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm obviously immune to the ray from the demon blood already in my system. I would think my blood would do the trick to neutralize it. It would save us from having to summon some badass demon. Not to mention that, you know, I could do some good with this evil crap coursing through my veins," said Sam.

Bobby thought for a minute. "Should work."

"No…Sammy," he mumbled, barely able to talk. "You don't have to."

"But I want to, Dean," said Sam. "Bobby, how much blood would you need?"

"Not that much," answered Bobby. "Once the, I guess you'd call them…antibodies…are released into the system, they should work quickly to cancel out the ray's effects. Only thing, I don't have the supplies for a blood transfusion here. And we can't exactly march into a hospital and tell them you need to donate your demon tainted blood to your dying brother."

"I can do it," said Castiel suddenly. They all looked at him.

"You can?" asked Sam.

"I can't physically put the blood into his system, but I should be able to make his body absorb these anti-bodies you speak of," answered the angel.

"How?" he asked, seeing three of Castiel. God, he was hurting.

"A palm full of blood, placed directly over your heart," said Castiel.

"Don' know," he slurred. He could barely keep his eyes open.

Bobby wheeled flush against the bed and looked him deep in the eye. "I'm gonna be blunt, son. To quote Elvis, it's now or never. You don't have much time. Frankly, even if this does work and it stops your body from disintegrating, we're still gonna have to get you to a hospital," he paused, glancing at Castiel, "and fast."

He tilted his head so he could look at his brother. "Sammy…I…" He trailed off, all of his strength and fight gone. He just wanted to sleep. And not feel any more pain. Ever again.

"Dean, let me do this. Please…please bro…let me save you," his brother responded, his eyes pleading and filling with unshed tears.

He wanted to let go and die. He wanted to feel the peace of nothingness. But he couldn't. He knew it in his heart of hearts. It was his lot in life to be in pain and soldier on through. Always had been. Time would tell if it always would be. God, he hoped not. "If it means that much to you," he breathed, his eyes meeting Sam's, giving him a weak smile.

"Good," said Sam, obviously relieved. "Cas, what do you need me to do?" His brother let go him and pulled out a knife from his pants pocket, the blade hovering like a ghost over his palm.

Cas stepped forward. "Cut yourself and let the blood pool in your hand for a moment."

Sam did as he was told and cut himself, letting out a grimace as blood seeped slowly out of the wound.

"We'll need to remove the garments covering Dean's heart," said Castiel.

"Already on it," said Bobby.

The older hunter grabbed the knife from Sam and proceeded to slice his T-shirt down the middle, exposing his chest to the cool air in the room. He shivered slightly, his skin popping out in gooseflesh.

"Think we're good," said Sam, holding out a palm that was now dripping with blood.

"That'll do," said Castiel.

The angel stepped to the bed and touched palms with Sam, coming away a moment later with an equally bloody hand. Cas held his hand up in the air and looked down at him, his eyes silently asking for permission to proceed. "Are you ready, Dean?"

He swallowed hard and met Castiel's blue eyes, seeing the genuine care and concern sparkling through. He trusted the angel with his life. "Do what you gotta do."

"This might not be pleasant," said Castiel.

"Rarely is, man," he gasped. He took a deep breath, his whole body blowing up with pain, and then blew it out. "Do it, Cas." Sam grasped his right hand hard just as the words left his mouth. He gripped it right back with as much strength as he could muster.

Castiel leaned down and pressed the bloody hand firmly over his heart, the pressure hard, almost painful. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he felt it. An energy soared through his body, lurching his muscles, burning his insides, upending his organs. He screamed as waves of anguish tore through his blood and bones.

He felt Sam squeeze his hand harder, felt Bobby grasp his other hand, felt Cas try and turn the clutch of his hand over his heart into one of comfort. Waves of burning, aching, electrified agony tore through his system, sailing through him, thrumming intensely. Oh god. He tipped his head to gaze into Sammy's eyes for comfort as his body turned inside out. He was moaning and panting and shaking.

"It's working! I can feel it!" shouted Castiel. "It's negating the effects of the ray!"

Suddenly, the pain was gone. His senses stilled into something akin to tunnel vision. There was only the sight of his brother's face, the feel of Castiel's hand on his heart, the tight grips of Sam's and Bobby's hands in his and the sound of his own tortured breathing.

And then, there was nothing.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoy the last part!**

"Dean…Dean…oh god, he's not breathing!" said Sam.

"Aw, hell, I don't have a pulse!" said Bobby.

"Death is very close for him," said Castiel.

There was no pain. There wasn't anything, which, under the circumstances, Dean suspected was a very, very bad thing.

He was looking down at himself. He wasn't floating in the air like a spirit. He was just outside his body. But he wasn't gone. Not yet.

He watched with fascination as Bobby began to stubbornly pound on his chest and Sam breathed into his mouth. Observed his pale, limp body not responding. He scrutinized himself lying lifeless in the bed and was truly shocked by his appearance. His skin tone was gray pallor, his face creased with lines of pain, his body gaunt, his hair lifeless and dull. But more than that, he looked old…not old of age exactly, more like old of spirit. He looked worn out…dead. And only half of that had to do with his current predicament.

"Damn it, kid, breathe!" shouted Bobby, thumping his chest with so much force it made him wince. But his body just bounced limply against the older hunter's palm.

"Come on, bro," said Sam, his brother's hand running through his hair, tears streaming in rivers down his lanky face. "Please don't do this. You have to live, man. What the hell would I do with you gone anyway, huh?"

"Were losing him!" said Bobby.

Sam looked desperately to Castiel. "Hospital, now!"

The angel grasped Dean, and Sam and Bobby grasped Castiel. There was a flash and then a moment later, they were sprawled out in the ambulance bay in the entrance to a local E.R. A nurse on a smoke break dropped her cigarette as she saw his broken body suddenly appear before her eyes.

"Please help us. My brother…he…he's…been hit by a car…he's…not breathing," yelled Sam, his brother clutching his lifeless body protectively while Bobby and Castiel lingered over the brothers in concern.

The nurse in the ambulance bay disappeared into the hospital and returned with a stretcher and a team of doctors and nurses in tow. They carefully extricated him from Sam's clutches and then poured his crumpled body onto the stretcher, hooking him up to a myriad of tubes and wires that were connected to scary looking machines. Then they were bursting through the E.R. door with Sam running alongside them, Bobby wheeling behind and Castiel floating up the rear as the E.R. staff rushed him down the hallway towards the double doors of an operating room.

Moments passed, and then they were in the sterile room, trying to save him. There were lots of beeps and shouts. Bobby and Castiel were watching through the glass doors from outside and Sam was standing at the head of the bed, out of the way, as a doctor positioned paddles on his chest, getting ready to shock his heart.

Sam was bawling. He looked broken and lost…almost like a kid again. A kid who needed to be protected by his big brother. Even now, after everything they'd gone through, every way they'd given up on or hurt each other, it always came down to this. They were family. They loved each other. They were all each other had and when they were separated, no good ever came out of it.

He had to get back to his brother.

"Clear," said the doctor before pressing the paddles hard against his chest. Dean returned to himself.

His heart began to beat. His lungs weakly dragged in air. He had a pulse. And he was in the worst pain he'd ever been in his whole life. Then he promptly passed out.

He awoke sometime later in what he gathered was a private hospital room. Sam was snoring in a chair next to his bed and Bobby was passed out in his wheelchair near the door. Castiel was on his other side, gazing at him with relief. "Dean?"

He couldn't talk. He felt bound up and claustrophobic. A cursory glance down his body revealed casts, tubes and bloody bandages. He motioned down himself with his eyes and then looked at the angel.

"You're going to be okay, Dean," said Castiel. "Your body was broken, but the humans in this place of healing have fixed it. You will survive."

He let out a ragged moan. He hurt. He hurt bad. He could tell he was on painkillers…good ones too. But they couldn't quite touch this ache inside of him that pulsed strongly against the plaster of the casts and tape of the bandages they had wrapped him in, threatening to tear them apart. "Cas," he mouthed, knowing he must've looked like a pitiful broken puppy dog. He needed to be free of the pain.

"Rest," said Castiel, taking the hint. The angel placed his hand squarely over his chest and the feeling of warm pain free peace took over his body. He did his best to flash Castiel a grateful expression before he drifted into oblivion once again.

The next time he became aware, Castiel was gone and Sam was still out like a light in the chair. Bobby had wheeled himself next to his bed and was staring at him, smiling. "How you feelin', boy?"

He tried to lick his lips and generate some saliva in his dry mouth so he could respond. "Wha…" he managed to get out.

"It's okay, Dean," said Bobby, reaching for some water.

A moment later, Bobby put a plastic cup of water to his lips and helped tip his head back, the water flooding his system. It felt wonderful. "Thanks," he murmured.

Bobby set the water down and then ran a hand tenderly through his hair. The motion was swiftly followed by a soft whack upside the head.

His breath hitched in surprise. "What the…?"

"Don't ever do anything like that again, ya idjit," said Bobby with a dead serious expression in his eyes.

"Yes, sir," he responded, returning the intense gaze for a few beats. Then his eyes slipped shut once again in utter exhaustion

"Rest, son. You're safe," he heard Bobby whisper before he was once again unconscious.

The next time he became aware of reality, it was late at night and his room was dark. Castiel and Bobby were gone. Sam was next to him in the chair, computer in lap, his brother's face lit up by the screen.

"Sam," he uttered.

Sam jumped in surprise and shut the screen in reflex, leaving the room even darker. "Hey…hey," said his brother, sliding closer to him. "How you feel?"

He took a moment to access. His head hurt. His back hurt. His hand hurt. His stomach hurt. His ribs hurt. His shoulder hurt. His face hurt. "Situation normal, all f'ed up," he responded. "But I'll li…"

He stopped when Sam suddenly pulled him into a gentle hug. He was taken aback. "Sammy..." He awkwardly petted Sam's back with his hand, sort of returning the hug, but not really. It would never hold up in court. "Dude…"

Sam let him go. It was too dark for him to see tears, but he swore he heard a sniffle come from his brother's direction. "Sorry," said Sam, clearing his throat. "It was just touch and go there for awhile, you know."

"Yeah, well, I'm back…and I'm not going anywhere," he said, ignoring the lump in his throat.

"Good," said Sam, grasping his hand tightly. "Go back to sleep. I got your back."

"Thanks, bro," he whispered. And a second later, he let the peace of sleep take him back under.

**That's All Folks! **


End file.
